


how badly it hurts just to think sometimes

by Anonymous



Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: Confessions, M/M, a small piece of light (but sincere) emotional manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27674798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jamshid might once have yearned to hear it, but that night, all he could think, staring at Muntadhir's solemn, bruised face, wasgood job, Jamshid.  You've broken the emir.
Relationships: Jamshid e-Pramukh/Muntadhir al Qahtani
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11
Collections: Anonymous





	how badly it hurts just to think sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> Set during _Kingdom of Copper_.

Not long after the visit to the temple, Jamshid found himself summoned to Muntadhir's apartments. The servant swallowed nervously and said, "The Emir says he is drunk and feeling sorry for himself, and requests your presence." It was the sort of joke that Muntadhir liked to make, but there was a kernel of truth in it, and Jamshid set out, worried but also furious that Muntadhir had gone back on his word, had not come to the temple, had not supported the Banu Nahri or her plans.

And all of that went out of his head when he saw Muntadhir sprawled out on his massive bed, wearing only trousers of dark linen. "Join me," he said. It was too tired to be a command, and even though they had not made love since Muntadhir's engagement, they had slept together, in the literal sense, usually when Jamshid had to watch over a dangerously drunken Muntadhir, and then collapsed of exhaustion when he was sure Muntadhir was safe. The curtains were drawn, and Jamshid sat on the edge of that enormous bed, and Muntadhir crawled over to help him remove his shoes. Jamshid's breath caught in his throat. It was so unfair, he thought, as Muntadhir's fingers undid the laces, eased the leather off his aching feet. But he'd done this to himself--quit the temple, joined the guard, fallen in love with a handsome, infuriating, heartbreaking prince--

"Are those bruises?" he asked.

Muntadhir shied away from his touch. "They're fine," he said. "Healing. I've had worse." There was one on his jaw. "You weren't supposed to see them."

"The arrows hit my back, not my eyes," snapped Jamshid, and Muntadhir flinched. "You don't seem very drunk."

"Not yet." Muntadhir lay back against the pillows and patted the bed by his side. It was, Jamshid had to admit, extremely comfortable. There was a softness in the mattress that accommodated his legs, that let his back rest, and there was Muntadhir. Breathing the same air as him, touching him lightly and reverently as though he were something holy, not a failed priest and a wounded warrior.

Jamshid swallowed. "Then why do you need me?"

Muntadhir squeezed his eyes shut. "I have nightmares," he said, his voice tight. "That night, on the lake, with Darayavahoush. They're--bad."

"Oh." Muntadhir had often had nightmares, but Jamshid, in the few nights he'd spent with the emir after his marriage, thought he'd seen some of these specifically. There was a panic when Muntadhir woke up, a wildness to his face and eyes. "I can see why they would be," he said. "I was there."

Muntadhir gave him that smile, that half-broken smile, and brought Jamshid's hands to his lips. They were trembling. "I remember." His eyes found Jamshid's. "In some of the dreams, I--no one survives. I wake up thinking the Afshin has killed--Ali, Nahri, the entire city. You. Waking up to you by my side reassured me that everything is all right."

"Only me?" asked Jamshid, half-teasing, half-hating everything that had brought them here. "For all you know, the Afshin could have slaughtered all of Daevabad outside these walls."

"Only you," said Muntadhir. Jamshid was about to ask him what happened to Daevabad coming first, what about everyone else on the boats, what about the Banu Nahida, and then he saw Muntadhir's face, the shadow of the bruise, the seriousness of his gray gaze. "I didn't realize it until that night, when you saved my life, that if you'd died in the process, I would have thrown myself onto your funeral pyre."

For years, Muntadhir had insisted that the kingdom, that his family, would have to take precedence over whatever there was between him and Jamshid. And Jamshid had accepted it, even if he'd hated it, and now here Muntadhir was, confessing that in this case, Daevabad came second. Jamshid might once have yearned to hear it, but that night, all he could think, staring at Muntadhir's solemn, bruised face, was _good job, Jamshid. You've broken the emir._ "You can't mean that," he said. "And you can't--it's been five years, and all of a sudden you're saying that, when you left me at the temple, when you haven't spoken to me since--" Since the feast where Jamshid had squeezed Muntadhir's knee and poisoned Muntadhir's brother. 

Muntadhir was never supposed to know, but then again Muntadhir was always the most perceptive when you least wanted him to be. Jamshid swallowed again. "I didn't--"

Muntadhir kissed him before he could say anything else, but Jamshid knew him, and it was not _a thank you for nearly killing Alizayd_ kiss. Perhaps he had not broken the emir after all. "Don't," Muntadhir said, pulling away, his hand still in Jamshid's hair, his eyes beseeching. "Don't ever speak of it where there's anyone to hear you."

Jamshid had not meant to kill Ali. The potion had never been anywhere near that lethal when Zahak brewed it, but Jamshid knew that his intentions would not shield him from Ghassan's wrath. Even a mild upset would have been construed as a threat, as a show of how easy it would be to get to the king or either of his sons with something far more deadly. "I wanted to protect you."

"Then stay with me," urged Muntahdir. "Tonight, and always." Unspoken: _keep yourself alive. Take no more risks. Don't try to murder my younger brother again._

__

__

_I love you. I still love you._

Jamshid had told the Banu Nahri that he must have been cursed, to not respond to Nahid healing, but not what he might have done to deserve it. "I'll do what I can," he said softly, and pulled Muntadhir closer. "Did you save me any wine?"

"To your left," said Muntadhir. "I'm sorry."

He couldn't absolve Muntadhir, couldn't even say that it wasn't Muntadhir's fault. "Don't be." Jamshid took a long swallow, and offered the wine to Muntadhir before replacing the cork and returning the flask to the bedside table.

"We should have run away together," said Muntadhir. "I know I said I could barely dress myself, but what's the worst that could happen?"

"You would be sunburnt and fly-bit and complain every day," said Jamshid. "And the wine would be far too thin for your liking." The pair of them, though, out in the plains of rural Daevastana, Muntadhir's hair unruly and long and mussed by the wind. They'd race horses across the steppes: in this fantasy, Jamshid would still be able to ride. They'd steal food and anything else they needed from the humans, and take turns rubbing the aches from one another's muscles. And because it was Jamshid's fantasy, he could send all the assassins Ghassan put on their trail astray, tumbling into rivers, lost in banks of fog and sandstorms. Perhaps they'd find themselves in a Daeva village where the inhabitants would recognize Jamshid's eyes, would tell him of a woman who went to Zariaspa in the summer of his birth and never came back. It was Jamshid's fantasy, so in it he could find the other half of his family, and they would welcome Muntadhir like one of his own, and they would be safe, and happy, all of their days. "But you'd love it all the same."

"I would," said Muntadhir softly, sliding his fingers through Jamshid's. "As long as you were by my side, I would."

Jamshid's breath caught in his throat. "Let's dream of that tonight," he said, even though they'd only wake up more miserable than before. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by EoG reread and Jamshid's "I poisoned Ali, sorry (not sorry)" tour, figuring out the worst possible way for him to tell Muntadhir, and then realizing, thanks to the extra scenes, that Muntadhir already fucking knows.


End file.
